


flos tenera

by handydandynotebook



Series: primis tenebris flos [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Lives, Gen, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Major Character Injury, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 03, Relationship Study, Strained Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26764429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handydandynotebook/pseuds/handydandynotebook
Summary: “Are you sure this is okay?” she asks quietly. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”Billy snorts and that’s the only answer she gets.“Which way to the stairs?”“Oh, we are definitely taking the elevator.” Susan gapes, unable to decide if he’s serious or not. He sounds serious but the wry quirk at the corner of his mouth might hint otherwise.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Susan Hargrove
Series: primis tenebris flos [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897387
Comments: 16
Kudos: 41





	flos tenera

**Author's Note:**

> part 3. why is there a part 3. this wasn't supposed to be a series.
> 
> edited 10-03-20, took out a line that contradicted the 80s. forgive me, i was not yet born then.

“You popped more of your stitches?” 

Billy glowers. 

Susan fidgets, crossing one leg over the other and apprehensively tapping her fingertips together. 

“Billy, you realize where we are, right?” she starts softly. “You can’t just—“ 

“Save it, I don’t need _you_ to remind me I got carved up like a goddamn Christmas roast,” he sneers, eyes flashing with indignation. 

Okay then. That’s that conversation. Went about as well as Susan expected. She should know better than to try to tell Billy what he can and can’t do. It’s always a surefire way to set him off, especially coming from her. But he’s already pushing himself too hard too fast and naturally, she has concerns. 

“What I do need, is a cigarette,” Billy mutters, his ferocity burning out just as fast as it’d flared up as he rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t even remember the last time I had a cigarette.” 

Susan is sorely tempted to propose this as an opportunity to quit. She’s sick of smelling smoke in the house, sick of picking cigarette butts out of her plants and the empty packs she might find littering the driveway if Billy’s feeling extra ballsy about getting under her skin before Neil comes home. 

But of course, suggesting he quit would go over about as well as trying to tell him what he can and can’t do and besides that, there’s something…something strange in his expression. He isn’t just griping, he’s almost…is he upset?

“Billy?” she hums uncertainly, not even sure what it is she’s asking. “Um, are you—“ 

“It’s been a really fucked up summer, okay?” His hand is still covering his face and if Susan didn’t know any better, she’d believe his voice was wavering, like he’s getting choked up. 

He can’t simply be referring to the accident at the mall, that just happened. Perhaps something happened at his job? 

Come to think of it, had he been acting sort of weird lately? Or weirder than normal, anyway, as far as Susan could tell. He’d always been…well, weird wasn’t the right word. Unsettling would probably be a better one. Billy was generally kind of unsettling to be around, at least as far as Susan was concerned. 

He hadn’t really been around much since summer started and that part wasn’t unusual. Billy spent a lot of time out of the house even before he got the lifeguard gig. It’s not like they spent time together whenever he was home, either. Really, before he wound up hospitalized, Susan could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d spoken to him since June, but even so, something…seemed amiss, maybe?

Or maybe not. Susan isn’t sure. She can’t quite put her finger on it. But looking back on it now, actually stopping to reflect, she thinks he possibly could’ve been…off, somehow. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, frowning thoughtfully. 

“No, I want a cigarette.” Billy drops his hand and, wait— are those tears Susan sees him blink back? 

Her lips part but he keeps going before she can even decide what it is she’s going to ask, let alone find the words.

“There’s gotta be people smoking in the parking lot. I’m gonna go try to a bum a cigarette. And I don’t need you to tell me it’s gonna take awhile to get down there, thanks, I am well aware I’m fifty kinds of fucked right now.” He turns a talon sharp look to Susan, like he’s daring her say something dissuasive. 

It suddenly dawns on Susan how hard this must be on him. She’s been so focused on the injuries, the surgeries, butchered organs scooped out of him like pumpkin pulp, that she hasn’t really considered how he’s faring emotionally. Having his wings clipped must be taking a toll. Billy can’t slink off and do the wounded animal thing where he’ll go find a place to hide and resurface when he feels fit enough, like Susan was always ashamed of herself for being grateful he did whenever Neil roughed him up. 

Even when he gets discharged next week, he’s probably going to be stuck at home. His car is completely wrecked. It’s still in the driveway, Neil hasn’t junked it yet, but it’s in no shape to go anywhere. Neither is Billy and it’s just now occurred to Susan how much that must be driving him insane when he gets bored so easily and leaves just about whenever he can. 

If they still lived in California, perhaps the day would’ve already passed where Billy just took off and never came back. He’s old enough to have pulled it off in California, maybe. But they’re in Indiana now, much more isolated. Less places to go, less opportunities to find. 

“You’d probably make your way down faster if you let me lend you a hand,” she offers tentatively. 

It’s not like Billy had exactly allowed her help yesterday. He just toppled into her and then didn’t let go. Like a struggling swimmer who clings fast to the first raft that floats in their direction. 

Billy balks at that, gives her a puzzled look. “You hate when I smoke.” 

“I also hate that horrible music you listen to but I brought your boombox anyway. You saved my daughter’s life, Billy, I can bite my tongue if you really want a smoke break.” 

“I’ll don’t need your help, Susan…but if you’re offering, guess I might as well take it.” 

Susan gives him a tiny smile and stands, brushing her slightly sweaty palms off on her slacks. She nervously winds her way around the bed and offers her hand. Billy takes it and he doesn’t squeeze too tight like she finds herself fretting he will. She helps him to his feet and it’s not exactly graceful, but it’s not the haphazard scramble of yesterday. 

She’s more prepared for his weight and he’s got a good gauge of how much of it she can take, even without asking. It surprises her a bit, almost. Susan isn’t sure why but there’s some part of her that keeps expecting Billy to hurt her, somehow. Maybe it’s because he glares at her like that sometimes, like he wants to. Maybe it’s just because he’s Neil’s. 

But that’s not fair. Actually, right now, Susan should be concerned about being the one to hurt him. For all she knows, her grip is digging into his sutures and leaning on her can’t be doing his rib fractures any favors. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” she asks quietly. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” 

Billy snorts and that’s the only answer she gets. 

“Which way to the stairs?” 

“Oh, we are definitely taking the elevator.” Susan gapes, unable to decide if he’s serious or not. He sounds serious but the wry quirk at the corner of his mouth might hint otherwise. “And it’s over there.” 

She nods in its direction and slowly but surely, they make their way into it. It luckily isn’t packed. There’s a slim gentleman wringing his hands and a zombified younger woman in scrubs Susan would guess is intern, and that’s it. Both wordlessly make room for her and Billy’s less than elegant entrance. 

Distantly Susan wonders if this is even allowed. Well, can it be not allowed? 

It’s not like Billy’s a prison inmate she’s busting free. They’re not going on the lam, just down to the parking lot. And maybe it’s not the greatest idea, he doesn’t even have shoes and she can’t imagine smoking is in any way a medically sanctioned pastime for somebody who had a collapsed lung less than a week ago, but if she doesn’t go with him, he’d just go himself. He’d try to, rather. This way, at least Susan will be there to prevent him from taking a header onto the blacktop, or else shout for help if he does. 

Pleasant jazzy music fills the ride from the second floor to the first floor. Susan attempts to hold back to politely let the others out but Billy’s pretty hellbent on this cigarette thing and thrusts his IV pole past the doors as soon as they open wide enough, securing first place. She’s a tad mortified and almost guiltily amused, but in any case, sticks to him like glue. 

Susan more or less leads the way outside, more familiar with the territory. Summer heat envelops them beyond the threshold of the automatic doors, and it occurs to Susan just how chilly the hospital is in comparison. Around the corner, there’s the EMS entrance. There aren’t any smokers in the immediate vicinity. Just cars. Much further in the opposite direction of the EMS entrance, there is one of those cylindrical outdoor trash receptacles. The metallic lid glinting in the sun may or may not be an ashtray. It’s too far away to see if the handful of people clustered around it are smoking or just chatting. 

  
Billy turns in that direction but Susan holds back. 

“Break time, okay?” 

“What?” Billy’s eyes narrow. “No! No way.” 

“Please,” Susan asks softly, forehead creasing as she looks him over. 

It’s pretty far off and she’s apprehensive about whether or not Billy’s actually up for the distance. He looks wan and washed out, sweating again. Even if he won’t acknowledge it, she can feel the slight tremble in the arm slung over her shoulders.

“Just for a couple minutes? We can people watch,” she coaxes. 

Billy heaves a loud groan of exasperation. “God, you freakin’ suck.”

“Oh yes, I know. I suck, I’m lame, I’m a buzzkill,” Susan assures him tartly, bobbing her head up and down as she veers toward a metal bench on the sidewalk. “Tell me all about it while we sit for a minute, hm?” 

He blinks rapidly, probably wasn’t expecting her to hold her ground. She generally doesn’t. But Billy looks a few wrong moves away from keeling over and she’s more anxious than anything else. She’d rather risk his annoyance than risk his health. 

Billy gets over his surprise and flashes her a stubborn look, digging his heels in. “No.” 

Susan readjusts her grip on his wrist, nervously gnawing at her lip. She briefly mourns the docility of him when he was all doped up on a pharmacy worth of opioids. What worked yesterday? 

Framing it for her benefit. Maybe she should do that again. Susan considers but doesn’t actually have time to speak before Billy starts toward the trash receptacle and she just has to move with him. 

“Wait a second,“ she pleads. 

“No. Came this far to get a smoke, not stopping until I do,” he snaps, determined. “I can’t. If I stop now, I might not—“ he abruptly cuts himself off. 

_Oh._

He isn’t being bullheaded just for the sake of being bullheaded. He’s not sure he’ll be able to get up again. 

“Billy…” she trails off warily. 

“I’m heavy, boo hoo,” he grunts. “Whatever, either deal with it or get lost. I’m barely putting anything on you anyway.” 

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Susan murmurs, giving in, resigned. “Actually, I was going to tell you to lean on me some more, if you need to. It’s okay.” 

“I don’t need to. I told you I don’t need you at all,” he grumbles, frowning at the cement. 

Susan tries not to take it personally. His arm sinks lower down her shoulders but Susan doesn’t say anything about that, either. 

The original assortment of people who’d been clustered around the trash cylinder have dispersed by the time they reach it at the end of a very slow, very sweaty walk. Emphasis on the sweaty. Between the exertion and the July sun, Billy’s just pouring perspiration and the heat doesn’t spare Susan, either. 

There’s a new group here, flicking ashes and blowing plumes that suffuse Susan’s airways, make her want to cough. There’s a young woman in a jean jacket that Billy starts talking up. He turns the charm on, smiles at her with that melty look in his eye, drops his voice to this smooth baritone. Susan might as well be invisible, the girl’s eyes barely flit over her. Billy’s bedraggled and phantom pale and he still has no problem captivating this girl’s attention. It takes him no time at all to charm her into a puddle of mush. 

Neil can do that too. 

Susan watches and all she can think about is just how easily Neil can turn the charm on. Puts it on, butter smooth. Smiles seductive winner’s smiles and speaks like sandalwood oil dripping down her skin. She can’t suppress a shiver. 

The girl is here because her grandfather’s having a hip replaced. Billy spins some tale about getting attacked by a shark and it’s so stupid that it’d be funny if it wasn’t disturbing. It is highly disturbing, because he actually makes it sound damn convincing. If Susan didn’t know any better, she would believe him. 

Neil can do that too. Neil is possibly even better at it. Neil could promise her all the stars in the sky and make it sound like the truth. Maybe he did once, arm around her waist, lips to her ear. Breath gently tickling the shell of it. 

The girl doesn’t just give Billy a cigarette, she gives him the last one in her pack. She even lights it for him before she waves goodbye. He thanks her all honey sweet, sends her off with a suggestive wink. 

Susan would gag if she wasn’t so disconcerted. 

“So the shark bit your surfboard in half, did it?” 

Billy takes a long drag and savors it, eyes closed. Susan almost doesn’t think he heard her. Then he exhales a lungful, flicking the ash into the silvery tray. 

“Makes for a better story than shrapnel.” 

Hargrove men and their charisma. Always telling the best stories. Susan tastes something bitter in the back of her throat. 

She doesn’t interrupt his smoke break with any more of her input. He seems calmer after. More relaxed, even relieved. 

The walk back, however, is anything but a relief. Billy’s stamina is spent even before they reach the entrance. He’s wobbling against her, weaving on his feet. Susan distantly wonders if she should’ve even let this happen. Sure, he would’ve tried this by himself otherwise, but maybe that would’ve been better than being an enabler. 

No, no, she decides it was better to help. It’s not like he was just craving a smoke, there was something _wrong_ earlier. He was upset or anxious or something. Susan wants to try asking again but she doubts Billy would actually give her an answer. 

She doesn’t have any more time to dwell on in the elevator, when he stumbles pretty badly, faint look on his face. Balance faltering, he barely manages to catch himself, blinking dizzily. Susan’s arm tightens like a band around his waist. She squeezes his wrist a little harder, even pressing her nails into the skin in an attempt to keep him alert. 

“Billy, please don’t pass out. I can’t carry you if you pass out.” 

“M’not gonna pass out,” he mumbles. “Christ, you’re dramatic.” 

It hardly sounds convincing but true to his word, he doesn’t pass out. The pace from the elevator to his room is like two clumsy tortoises duct taped together but it goes without incident, passing out or otherwise. Susan doesn’t quite let him peel away this time though, wordlessly nudges Billy to sit down first. She doesn’t actually let go until she knows he’s got the bed under him. 

She almost asks if he wants her to flip the pillow. Or fluff it. But he’d probably just stare at her or snort at her, so she quietly shuffles back to her chair instead. 

She minds herself while Billy gets comfortable, takes a minute to catch her own breath. It was quite the trip. Over an hour. All for a cigarette. She hopes that smoke stink isn’t in her hair, figures she should wash it when she goes home. But not right away. Neil will want dinner on the table by the time he gets home and an update. She’ll skirt around the venture into the parking lot, probably— 

“Hey.” 

Susan blinks, glancing up as Billy waggles something at her. 

“You can have this.” It’s the remote. 

“Oh.” Susan scoots her chair a bit closer and takes it. 

“You can pick what you want to watch.” He pauses, exhales raggedly. “I’m probably not going to be awake much longer.” 

“Oh, okay.” Susan smiles gently. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah…you too.” Billy rolls over, facing the wall. “Just don’t put any of those stupid cooking shows on. Don’t need any reminder how much the food here sucks, it’s even worse than yours.” 

Susan knows for a fact he always goes back for seconds when she makes lasagna. Even thirds, he’s huge, he can eat like a horse. But she doesn’t say that, just keeps it to herself and rests her chin in her hand as she flicks the television on. 

**Author's Note:**

> i still don't watch st. gave it a shot since i started writing for it but they were taking forever to unveil the demogorgon, so i just played dbd instead. doesn't look like my obsession with susan is going away anytime soon tho.


End file.
